Movie of the Weak

And they say no new movies will be produced for a while because of the plague. Sort-of known guy Antonio Sabato's got news for y'all.

Here's the logline:  The Expendables + a cast of washed-up deplorables = The Availables.

Bakersfield; Calif — Antonio Sabato Jr. is getting set to shoot a new movie. One he is directing and writing called "Trail Blazers". It is a modern day western about "good" Vs "evil"; angels and demons.

It's a faith based movie that he hopes will encourage others to stand up for their faith, but at the same time provide tons of action. He is working on marital [sic] arts and gun fights for an action packed movie.

Antonio plans to bring back his acting friends that have been shun [sic] from Hollywood due to their conservative views or Christian faith. Actors such as, Lorenzo Lamas, Kevin Sorbo, Dean Cain and Kristy Swanson have all signed up to be in the movie. There [sic, Jesus H. Christ] hope is to shoot the movie in a few months in New Mexico.

Well, that was painful to read. I sure do hope Scooter got a decent grade on that book report. Guy works in the feckin' media you say? Forget the basic spelling and grammar errors, the content itself reads like a high-school intern cranked it out so he could go on a sandwich run.

Anyway, the movie. Sounds hilarious. Here's the poster. Try not to be surprised at the names in the cast. The brief character descriptions in the right-hand column are just [chef's kiss]. As writer, producer, director, and star, Sabato of course has cast himself as John, The Slick One. So there may be oil or Vaseline or Astroglide involved at some point.

For my money, though, the one that literally made me laugh out loud, startling the cat and prompting a What? from my wife, was Scott Baio's description, The Furious. Which instantly called to mind the 1999 cult comedy Mystery Men, about a gang of "superheroes" who all had shitty superpowers. Ben Stiller, of course, played Mr. Furious, whose "superpower" was -- you guessed it -- getting really pissed off. So now I just envision Chachi sitting there, smoldering and seething with rage until he finally blows his top.

In fact, looking at the other character descriptions after Baio -- The Wise One, The Shadow, The Gracious -- they might as well just plug in some of the other Mystery Men superhero names. I could definitely see Kevin Sorbo as The Shoveler or The Waffler.

The rest of it is padded out with Trump-humpers like Dean Cain and Kristy Swanson, people who couldn't hack it in Hollyweird and blamed it on political correctness instead of a lack of talent and a nose for lousy projects, and MMA fighters like Bas Rutten and Tito Ortiz. (Cain's real claim to fame is taking Brooke Shields' virginity, when she was 22 years old.)

Then there are lesser-known actors, such as Australian actor Robert Rabiah and Baywatch alum David Chokachi, who don't seem to be especially vocal about their politics, certainly not in the way Sabato and Baio (both of whom spoke at the Republicon convention in 2016) have been. Nor do they appear to be semi-pro trolls like Cain and Swanson. Nor do any of their public-facing outlets (Wikipedia, Twitter, etc.) have any mention of this thing. Which is kind of a hint.

So unless maybe Tony S. humps the right leg for money -- maybe Stephen Bannon or Robert Mercer, some shithead whackjob with money to match their mental problems -- it either won't get off the ground, or worse, it'll get made on a shoestring. It'll make the cheesy Sonny Chiba chopsocky stuff from the '70s and '80s look like Citizen Kane.

For what sounds like it's supposed to be an action movie, the cast is awful long in the tooth. Baio turns sixty this year, Sorbo, Lamas, Michael Dudikoff, and soap actor Ronn Moss are all well into their sixties. The only thing that kept James Woods and Jon Voight out of this was tertiary syphilis. Count on a lot of "creative" angles for the action scenes, especially for Mr. Furious.

The only real surprise in the cast is Robert Wagner, but since Wagner is 90 years old (and a more, uh, interesting character than his usual public persona has indicated), I'm betting he doesn't have much screen time in this little epic. In fact, I'm betting he never appears in it at all. Sabato is claiming that the cast will house together during shooting in New Mexico, in order to self-quarantine. If Wagner is involved, it'll only be because they spliced in five minutes of him on his veranda, reading a few expository lines about why he's the "Father of Faithful Ones."

Anyway. Looks like loads of fun, maybe one of those "midnight movie" type deals like Showgirls or Rocky Horror Picture Show. More likely, I'll see it on the rack at my local supermarket, peeking out from behind God's Not Dead 3 or something like that.

Mostly though, the world could really use less of this sort of shit, these tedious, thinly-veiled and poorly-written allegories claiming to impart moral truths, coming from people who gleefully support daily indecency and mendacity, open theft and shameless indifference to mass death.

They want to lecture us heathens about good and evil and christian values, maybe they should take a fucking look in the mirror, while reading aloud the Sermon on the Mount. They support death and lies and thievery and cruelty and shameful hypocrisy. They don't have enough goddamned sense to be ashamed of themselves and each other.

I Can't Believe It's Not Butthole

Okay, I guess I have to admit it out loud for all to hear -- if you're not watching Tucker Carlson's show, you are missing out on some trenchant political analysis from some of the world's finest thinkers, the most accomplished people in the public policy sphere. I mean, Jesus Christ, was Meat Loaf busy or something? The unbuttoned shirt is a nice touch for a sixty-year-old man.

Let's face it, Fixed Noise reached Peak Moron years ago, but it's like the various hosts have some kind of weird bet with one another to see who can scrape the bottom of the barrel more and still keep a straight face. Half of Carlson's viewers are likely to reflexively scream at the teevee for Fabio to go back to where he came from if he doesn't like it here. Keep up the great work, Tucker!

Ladies' Night

Look, no one is ever going to mistake me for Brad Pitt, and I'm sure this will annoy many of my politically correct fellow travelers, but the takeaway from this Daily Crawler puff piece is that the four, um, females (I guess) are most notable for the fact that the Most Femnist Parsdent Evar would be the first to tell everyone how completely homely and unfuckable they are.

To paraphrase an old joke, if symptoms persist after four hours, don't worry about calling your doctor -- just look at that photo.

But the main point is not a joke. If Ronna RMONEY McDaniel takes her name back, or Baghdad Barb Huckabilly Sanders has a come-to-Jebus moment and renounces her ongoing service to Satan, or Kellyanne Conway has to make a decision between her marriage and her "career" as political fluffer, you can bet real cash that at some point, Mister Grab 'em by the Pussy will be sure to drop some sort of "looksist" shade on them. Count on it.

No insult is too small, no detail too petty. He's a doddering, senile piece-of-shit with a tenth-rate intellect and a memory of a concussion victim, but the one thing that asshole tattoos on his perfectly smooth brain is fucking grudges. They used to say that Barbara Bush knew how to hate, but Fuckface Von Clownstick lives for it. And if any of these dingbats turns on him, he will get personal. It's his go-to move.

In the meantime, if women have no problem selling their souls -- as well as other women -- to a serial predator, I have no compunction about calling 'em as I see 'em. They're fugly as sin, inside and out.

Failsons of Minarchy

There should be a caption/fanfic contest for this pic:

We'll throw in a few easy ones to get the party started:

• So that's what a muscle feels like!
• He said he'd let me borrow the ass-less chaps.
• If we're pulling a train, does that make me the engine or the caboose?

So what bikes do these realest of 'murkins have to ride, now that His Travesty has expressed his immense displeasure with Hardly-Dangerous? Seriously, did you ever think you'd live to see a public official in high office openly call for a boycott against a private business that crossed him? It'll be interesting to see just how much more winning these saps can take.

I don't think they've had quite enough snapped off in their asses just yet. Another quarter or two oughta do it for some of them; unemployment benefits run out quickly, especially in this wondrous worker's paradise where the unemployment rate is nominally 3.9% (Fake Numbers!), yet real wages are as stagnant as ever.

But yeah, this "Bikers for Clownstick" thing is just too much, as is that "I'm so turned on by all this lea-thurrrr" duckface. Not that there's a danger of some Nochni Volki scenario; these fake rebels either are card-carrying bozos who can't put their fingers together in the dark without a flashlight, or they're suburban assholes with jobs and mortgages and car payments who can't afford to lose their place in the swinger block parties with some weird mayhem-related charge.

Requiem for a Bush

No doubt we've given Gramma Bush a hard time or two in here at some point, most likely after her Katrina gaffe, but compared to the current group of scumbags within the White House and supporting them in the media, she's a saint. It's not hard to appreciate a tough old bird who knew when to say when, went home on her own terms, and had bourbon at the end.

Having said all that, this classic internets conspiracy theory never fails to make me chuckle.

Emergency Preparedness

I guess we should all just consider ourselves lucky that Fatboy was playing golf (surprise, I know) when the false alarm was sounded, otherwise we might have had thermonuclear war declared via Twitter tantrum. Really builds confidence in the system.

Weekend Warriors

So which congressional loser's turn is it to spend the weekend letting Emperor Depends win at golf? It's a beautiful fall day, perfect for spending it driving the golf cart on the fairways, and watching a doddering, incompetent, incontinent old man waddle around and cheat at a meaningless game. Fun!

Maybe It's Just a Coincidence

If you haven't read Jane Mayer's excellent piece in the New Yorker on Mike Pence, get on it post-haste. Lots of good stuff in there, especially Jared Kushner's machinations to get rid of Chris Christie in favor of Pence, and let traitor Michael Flynn in the door after Christie had already warned about him.

But what's perhaps more interesting is the little tidbits of info Mayer includes about Mike Pence's older brother Gregory. He runs an antique store, he cites The Wizard of Oz as a metaphor for his mother's change in political views, and he uses the descriptive "fabulous" at one point.

I think you get the picture. I wonder if his fanatic brother has tried to "cure" him.

Delete Your Job, Too: Frank 'n' Beans

Speaking of useless journamalistic hacks who, if they hung up their knickers tomorrow and sought an honest paycheck, you wouldn't miss 'em for a New Yawk second, here's food-critic-turned-political-theater-turd-miner Frank Bruni defending Clownstick's pathetic appetites:

[Clownstick] ordered his usual slab of beef in his usual manner, “well done and with ketchup, as if the entree would be accompanied by a sippy cup,” wrote my friend Tom Sietsema, The Washington Post’s restaurant critic. That’s a great line, and just as witty was Sietsema’s call for “a moment of silence for the cow, the condiment and what most chefs would call a forced marriage.”

Forced, yes, but not necessarily unhappy, and certainly not deserving of the gasps and guffaws it drew. A former restaurant critic myself, I fielded a media request for my appraisal of [Clownstick]’s epicurean trespass. “Let he who is without a bag of microwave popcorn in his cupboard cast the first stone,” I said, or something along those lines.

It goes on like that, surrendering the usual guff about how "it pegs Trump’s critics as exactly the sneering elites he says we are" and such like. Listen close, asshole: Clownstick is a fucking elite, by his own reckoning. He lives in a marble-and-gold penthouse, with gold-plated terlets and Louis Quatorze chairs. Yes, it looks like Saddam Hussein's palace decorator had a go at it, but still.

The fact is, if Clownstick were marginally competent and/or sane, the fact that he likes his steak the same way a five-year-old does wouldn't even be fodder for snark. No one would care. But what does it tell you that it gets attention? There is something wrong with someone who takes a New York strip steak -- not the best cut but a pretty good one -- and has it cooked to a crisp, and served with ketchup? Go try that at the nearest expensive restaurant near you. If the chef doesn't come out and berate you for being a culinary retard, he probably spit on it. Not that you'd taste the difference.

Death Wish

So on December 23rd, we watched the Extras Christmas special series finale, which has a brief cameo from George Michael. The next day we watched the Rosemary's Baby episode of 30 Rock.

So I've spent the last several days seriously considering watching a few episodes of Keeping Up With the Kardashians, especially if they have a Kanye West appearance.

Asking for a Friend

So, uh, do you think Mitt Romney swallows?

Mommie Dearest

Even dirtbag serial killers have mothers that love them, one supposes, but the mother of sex-dungeon freak Todd Kohlhepp takes it to another level. Maybe she has to tell the rest of the world that her son is no monster, just so she can live with knowing that he is, and that she raised him. If we can't just have done with this piece of shit and shove him into a wood chipper, maybe we can just put him under permanent house arrest at her house, see how that works out.

Saint Misbehavin'

Apparently Pope Francis is formally canonizing Mother Teresa this weekend, and the only fair response is whatever, pal. I don't understand the purpose of saints anymore than I understand the purpose of the Catholic church itself. It's merely custom, tradition, and not much more than that. We do it this way because we've always done things this way.

One of the finest polemic efforts by the late great Christopher Hitchens was to pierce the impermeable balloon of perfection that MT had cultivated for herself, by buddying up to Princess Di, while taking money from scumbags like Baby Doc Duvalier and Charles Keating. (As Hitchens famously recounts in The Missionary Position, the prosecutor in the Keating case personally implored MT to return Keating's ill-gotten, fraudulent, tax-evading contribution to her cause, to which she feigned ignorance in perhaps the most literal sense of the word -- she gave a nonsensical response to the request, and then essentially ignored him.)

Hitchens nails it by pointing out that while MT postured as a friend to the poor, what she really turned out to be was a friend of poverty and suffering, as she sincerely believed those things to be gifts from god. Relief from those ailments was not the goal; the more elusive goal of "redemption" was the point of her ministries. (Well, that and her more public stances against abortion and divorce. Anything that might empower women, MT's cause was to stand against such things.)

Wrong Question

Here we go again; get ready for yet another meaningless kerfuffle over an athlete expressing their opinion. Humble prediction:  not one (1) media entity will think to ask, Why do we feel the need to perform nationalistic chants at sporting events? What tangible need is served by this? Some people would probably miss it, but so what? Can we just watch a fucking ballgame without being pestered by your jingoistic nonsense?

None of those questions will ever be asked or answered by a corporate media entity. There would be too much incoherent whining and twittering.

Ugly Americans

Soon as the story first broke that Ryan Lochte and his swim teammates had been robbed at gunpoint in Rio, you knew something had to be up. After all, Lochte was able to cultivate a career as an affable doofus because he really is, by all objective accounts, an affable doofus. So it makes sense that he would almost cause an international incident by lying about a little post-party vandalism.

None of this obviates the fact that Rio is, again by all objective accounts, an overpopulated, crime-ridden dump where the wealthy live behind security systems and high gates, and the poor live clustered on hillsides in corrugated tin sheds. Lochte's story was believed precisely because it was so believable.

Between the 2014 World Cup and now the 2016 Summer Olympics, Brazil has made an attempt to draw "prestige" events that show it as a player on the world stage, rather than a over-large banana republic. Problem is, in dealing with FIFA and the (notorious) IOC, two of the most corrupt and useless "world" organizations outside of the UN, Brazil has merely managed to cement that reputation of those organizations and or itself as a country.

Lochte's indignation at being shaken down in the street for a fine by Brazilian street cops just shows what a dope he is. If he had pulled this shit in, say, New York City, and the cops didn't recognize him, he'd have spent at least a few hours in a holding cell in Rikers, one of the more terrifying places in this country. Lochte (and his presumably virgin asshole) should be thanking those cops for sparing him from a Rio holding cell.

Not that any of it matters; while the gossip rags and moral wags are scolding him for his bad behavior and poor international diplomacy, Lochte has gone back to his regular life -- swimming for a living, cashing fat checks, and banging hot chicks. What a country! We should all be so lucky.

Punchy the Whale

Seems like it's been a while since fat Mexican George Zimmerman has been in the news for something stupid, so it's good to be reminded that he's still kicking after all. At least until Herr Drumpfski's Deportation Task Farce makes an assumption and dumps his ass in some random Central American craphole.

Freudian Slip

Okay, sorry to crack wise about what is clearly a tragedy, but the headline typo does point in the direction of the absurd:

Who knows? Maybe it was an angry elf.

If a Tiny Tree Falls in a Forest....

From the "who gives a shit?" file, Mike Bloomberg has informed his supporter that he will not, after all, be making an independent run for the presidency. I know, try to contain your grief. Ordinarily it wouldn't even be worth mentioning, as hardly anyone bothered to note that Bloomberg was "looking into" running in the first place, but it's noteworthy just for the sheer delusion of it. He'd have probably gotten more publicity -- and a fighting chance -- if he had changed his name to "Deez Nutz".

Question of the Day

Which part of the race to the bottom between Donald Trump and Ben Carson is more hilarious -- Trump's continued insistence that he doesn't need a teleprompter, even though he extemporizes like old people fuck; or Ben Carson's Scarface-to-Urkel redemption narrative becoming unraveled with each tedious retelling?

Look a few months down the road, folks; this is how the Gooper field gets narrowed to Rubio. Rubio should send Trump a thank-you card attached to a $10k/night call girl for cockpunching Yeb?! into irrelevance, exposing him as dickless, a political Ken doll. Trump and Carson are not running for president, they're running for something with more money and fewer headaches -- a book tour, a teevee show, some tiresome bullshit soaking their moron fan bases out of their unearned cash (it is axiomatic that if you're spending any money or time on anything from Trump or Carson, you didn't work nearly hard enough for it).

News of the Weird

I don't mean to be insensitive [Ed.:  Since when?] that a man drowned trying to save his cat. But, uh, and I'm just asking for a friend, who takes a cat canoeing?